vale event

"Come on, come on!"

"This way, this way!"

'Eep!'

Fae so sickly and dark one would believe they were dying now guided this group towards that which Gareth Ingraine had once sought out; The entrance of a land long forgotten.

Where spirits could reach out and touch the living; Where the rules of nature would bend and twist from the sheer excess of mana lingering in the air.

Slamming into a tree branch - One of those Fae which sought to guide along this group was knocked to the ground. Brought to their knees by a single miscalculation, if not for the oh so familiar sounds of a lyre being abused?

Achyon may have lost their way!

Who else does Celicia see but that of a familiar guide strumming away at the beginnings of their journey.
[NARRATE]


Lost in the haze.

It's difficult to discern their way through in a place like this.. and even worse, Marcel was never too accustomed with the spirits anyway- as far as he's concerned, spirits were alien creatures that had no place on this plane.

The last time they meddled..
His family suffered.

It is why he has a grip on his weapon the entire way through; as much as they're led along to a certain extent, the Corporal does not trust any of this- given the fact that this hunch of being distrusting has only proven to be right in the past..

What reason does he have to feel any different?

"--I don't like this."

"We're about to get jumped by something."

One might say he's paranoid, but.. he would view this as careful instead. But given the fact that he has no better ideas here..

He follows along with Celicia. Has she spotted something?
(Marcel Delisle)

"... There once was a bitch name Celicia!"

The dryad began as such a group was quick to approach, strumming away at their lyre with no sense of reason. Hands trembling and shaking against those continued movements.

"So heroic and brave!"

So they would continue on with their song. One long and drawn out sniffle being given - Though no drugs could be found upon their upper lip.

"She had caused even me to cave...
Living without Sylavanum?
I yearn for a bullet to be shot right into my cranium!
Yet she still wanders without a care on her mind...
I wonder, does she even know my pain?"

Glancing up? Oym stared straight at Celicia

"OHHHH THERE ONCE WAS A GREEDY, SINFUL, UGLY, RUDE, GREEN-HAIRED, IDIOTIC, TOO-GOOD FOR DRUGS KNIGHT NAMED CELICIA!"

Suddenly? They were cut off, flashing the biggest smile they could.

"Oh, hello Celicia and... New friends! I didn't see you there! What brings you to my... Newest venture in this world? Are you all perhaps thinking of entering The Vale?"

Nudging a small tin can forwards as the familiar drug-addicted dryad continued on.

Scrawled upon it? The Word; Tips.

"I really don't recommend it - Very dangerous this time of year, you know?"
[NARRATE]

"..."

This tune. These... words. It causes him to squint in surprise when he hears them all- and when they walk close enough to the source, his gaze finally turns towards the creature of magic.

At least, he thinks it's some sort of creature of magic.

Being insulted like that.. was there more to the story that Marcel didn't know? Regardless, his gaze turned towards Niffty for a moment, a grip still maintained onto his gun- as ever cautious.

Nothing was to be trusted here.

"Your old friend, I assume."

Otherwise, how else she could be familiar with that one? Though, with that said..

"What's in the Vale? What's so dangerous about it?"

Whatever this creature is about to say would likely be a lie - but Marcel attempts to draw useful information nonetheless. Tactical as always..

Unsurprising, from a man like him.
(Marcel Delisle)

Marcel and Matryona were given a glance.

"... Information ain't free. Learned my lesson last time when your friend over there toppled a drug ring that supplied me with a lot of sylavanum!"

Huffing a sudden thrum against their lyre would echo outwards, like a car screeching and crying outwards as this group was insistent on digging up what information they could.

"Realistically, though? There's been a lot of bad spirits out and about, I heard even those crystal boy guards are having a hard time containing them!" Who really knew how long it would be until they got out of control?

Celicia was given a glance.

"My... Music is going Triple-Mythril! Faes go crazy over this kind of stuff, they love my hit song; I hate Celicia and her Osronan friends."

Nodding, seems as though Oym was becoming quite the figure.

Yet, they could still afford no drugs. How terrible.
[Narrate]


Price...

What could the creature like her possibly want in a distant forest like this? As much as he figured that there could be some interest in money, in the end, it didn't make much sense - as scarce as this place is, coin likely held little value.

Or no value at all.

"What do you want?"

Marcel was often a direct man, choosing not to toy and dance around the subjects- they needed information, clearly, but..

"It better be good."

"Not just whacky information that spirits are dangerous. I already know that myself."

Clearly, if the information offered to him wasn't even remotely useful.. then he wouldn't be so interested.
(Marcel Delisle)

Snrk!

Yeah.

That was the stuff.

Marcel didn't even get given a chance of a response before they were snorting away, downing any amount of that substance they could get their hands on.

"Guh..."

Oh no, looks like Celicia gave them just abit too much.

What information was delivered being all they would receive it seemed, eyes rolling back in Oyms head as that addiction was settling in once more.

Even still?

It seemed as though naught more than peril and danger lay ahead - The whispering of spirits and promise of decay lingering well beneath the surface. Such a group need only take the plunge.

"Guhughguhugh."

Oym would sadly be staying back, it seemed.
[Narrate]

Marcel stares long and hard at Celicia.

There's disapproval in his gaze. A deep one, and harsh one.. for as far as he's concerned, she just messed up badly. His lips purse a little bit, to which he remarks.

"You know.."

"We could've asked for a lot more information before giving the drug like that."

"Never give the goods upfront, especially to people.. creatures like them."

A shake of his head.

"Let's just go."

Clearly, the danger lies ahead. There wouldn't be time to discuss more of this.

Not now.
(Marcel Delisle)

Onwards.

Upon such a single stride this group could feel something was indeed wrong. Pushing even a single step forwards they could feel hands which hadn't ever existed reaching outwards, grabbing upon their clothing and flesh alike as though it was trying to be torn straight off.

Whispers and howls digging within the craniums of these soldiers, less trained Magi may have been brought to their knees by the sensations of that which didn't exist in a matter of mere moments.

Though? Achyon, Soldiers of a proud empire knew well their goal. Knew well how to stand firm and continue pushing forwards.

Even still? That wouldn't remove the eerie sensation which now settled above those present.

Upon Matryona and her guidance? One small section of her map would be lit ablaze - The center of The Vale where an unusual concentration of mana could be seen gathering and building.

No doubt, such was the area Osrona had originally sought.
[Narrate]


Disturbed.

The touch of spirit never comforted Marcel- quite on the contrary, viewing them as alien presence that simply should not meddle with the physical world, the moment that he felt the touch he almost jumped up, his gun pointed at the direction of the gun.

A thought passes to fire, but..
He assumes this would attract attention.

Instead, the ionic barrier rises- terrible lightning courses all around him, a tool of superb defense that could prove to be difficult for all to pass, even those with entirely supernatural origins.

"Hands off."

Tense, and clearly displeased by his situation. The only reason he hasn't tried to shoot in the direction of a single touch yet is only because he believes this could attract more attention..

It's not something they need yet.

His glance trails off to what Matryona does; figuring that she just mapped out this area, he follows along.

Always on guard.
(Marcel Delisle)

'Wake up.'

Came a voice so soft and sweet.

Alluring and begging for acceptance as that voice entered into the minds of such men present. Ever further would they push into The Vale as a thick haze settles above this group and their own push ever forwards.

'Save me.'

One could call such a feeling akin to claws digging into their minds. Scraping at their craniums and latching on as Celicia and Matryona were able to push forwards without even a single issue.

'You shouldn't be here... Won't you just stay with me, though?'

That voice continued on as their continued push into this crimson haze of fog seemed only to empower these thoughts of doubt and hesitation.

Why should they be fighting and risking themselves here when each could be back home? Back behind their walls so safe and sound with a woman at their side? Who truly needed all of these difficulties in life?

(All men /roll.)
[NARRATE]

... Everyone is capable of fighting off these words or outright ignoring them as they push forwards.
[NARRATE]


Marcel only gives a glance at the alluring voice.

As sweet and gentle as it is, the Corporal is able to resist the call- perhaps out of moral code, or perhaps out of caution to the area around him.. regardless, he does not wander off.

There's a hum- a quiet mutter.

"What's with women getting on me.."

This wasn't the first time, this wasn't the first person or even creature.. and it probably wouldn't be the last.

Yet, his gaze turns to Celicia.

"More like disturbing."

"I don't like this place."
(Marcel Delisle)

"... Tsk."

Wings would blast back such haze and a rather furious looking woman could now be seen peering towards this group. Beauty and lack of grace being what defined a woman so consumed by a miasma of depravity - To be quite specific and precise about all of this?

Her gaze was drifting between the men now present.

The Gnome?

 Having its neck twisted straight off without a second thought. Ideas which had been implanted within the minds of these men now replaced by that screeching anger of her own Dark Lord.

Realistically?

She was upset none of them had fallen for what so many prior had.

"... Am I not good enough? Was that it? Did all my Dark Lord give unto me not provide you with reason enough to turn back, to show even a moment of weakness?"

Infuriated beyond belief.

"Ahem. Recompose yourself, Selene. None of these men look that strapping anyways..."

More grumbling.

"You are all to turn back lest you face further consequences - Achyon has no business here. Humans have no business here, our ascension of this realm is nearing completion, after all."
[Narrate]

What is revealed before them is..

An odd creature. The servant of the Dark Lord, or so he figures- at least, based on the legends and myths, she matches the description. Besides..

She just admitted to it.

"You have no business interfering with our mission."

It's spoken plainly; the Corporal that thankfully managed to avoid the charms would rather just shoo her away and be done with it. And if he must..

Then she'd be taken down instead.

Yet, his gaze briefly turns towards Celicia. He only shrugs for a moment, soon to remark.

"No. Selene was Felinae. And this is, just..." He turns back to the witch.

"A well-endowed lady."

That's all he defines her as; it'd be a lie to say that she didn't look attractive, but.. all the same, he remained focused.

"In any case."

"Step aside. It's for your own good that you do."
(Marcel Delisle)

These people were awful.

Comments about her chest causing those cheeks to puff outwards ever so slightly.

Comparing her to some kind of inferior witch only furthering that pout and trembling hands as more and more comments were made. Matryona and Bruno seeming ones which could at least hold some amount of respect about themselves.

Shame her haze could not afflict either of them.

One crack of that massive whip within her hands would create a scar upon the ground, their persistence and desire to continue this push forwards? Met with immediate force as even a single step closer was attempted.

"... Fate worse than death? You'd send me straight to my Dark Lord? I'm elated! Though, I really will need to stop you here."

The thick aura of miasma around her building and accentuating the witches more prominent features.

"So, would you please all die?"

Even now - Such a request seemed pleasing to undertake.
[NARRATE]


Crack!

The sounds of a whip cracking against each present echoed outwards against such a constant exchange of blows. Molten stone being raised from the ground and shadows bending to strike against each which sought to lash outwards.

Celicia and Emery alike being knocked aside and struck by Telekentic blows.

The assault on both mind and body seeming to have no effect upon Celicia.

Though, Emery? Knocked into the ground, no sounds of bones breaking or blood spilling as his mind continued to be flooded with thoughts. Images and vivid imaginations of a life not his own, his mind and very being assaulted.

And...

As the man rose? You could hear a familiar sound spilling from Emerys lips.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ll88XLDV-Yw)

Snapping between his own normal demeanor and this horrendous laugh at times.

The others?

Dodged and weaved gracefully, knocked around and throttled as their continued assault worked to topple one said to be blessed by her Dark Lord.

Though, from a distance?

It seemed as though Matryona was more than capable of landing that final headshot.
[NARRATE]

She was..

A difficult fight. The power she wielded was evidently terrifying- so much so that amidst the constant fighting Marcel did his best to avoid closing in the distance too close, or else he could be potentially blown to pieces. Instead..

Lightning and vicious winds alike shred at her body, all in tandem with the efforts of the rest- where he becomes almost cornered by the ability of the witch, his ionic barrier and speed alike are the only things that allow him to survive.

He was a Corporal for a reason, after all..

A dodge after dodge, block after block.. and he regroups with the rest to fight back against her when it's all said and done; the final blow delivered by the other, and Delisle only watched the witch fall. In a sense..

She was warned about it.

"... I wonder, why people tend to attack clearly armed and dangerous Imperials all around?"

She wasn't the first. On most adventures, and even on Esshar itself, people just have an issue with them - always.

"Is it something with our faces?"

Humorous, maybe.. but regardless, he gathers up his rifle once more, preparing to move forward.

"We should continue."
(Marcel Delisle)

"Hideous... Dogs..."

In her final moments some would call this woman just as disgusting as every other human before her. Bleeding and broken with no redemption to be found, Emery was cackling and Celicia was yoinking what she could from the broken and battered body of a Witch.

Though?

Her words mattered not as a horrible shrieking call echoed across this Vale. Pulled ever inwards towards such an item as her very soul was kept from that which she yearned to be with, Bruno could see a hand stretching out to stop him seconds before?

She was gone.

The substance upon Bruno was not to be disregarded of course, the creation of a Witch needed tamed all the very same. Wrapping around his neck at times and attempting to strangulate him, though even the smallest amount of pain would cause this living organism to shrink back into a simple outfit.

Nonetheless.

With haze and obstacles now gone?

The group could continue forwards.
[Narrate]

Disturbing all the same.

There's a reason why Marcel never truly desired to dabble in all things Occultic and dark.. mostly because it was never understood by him, and it was never trusted by him either; as much as the Empire finds use in that art, to him..

It's something dangerous.
Something that must be contained.

Something that should not be freely wielded at all- on par with Holy magic, which was practically a reverse effect. With the witch defeated, the gun was still held in his hands- hanging by a strap, yet prepared to be drawn at a moment's notice.

"--I knew something was going to jump us."

And that's probably not the first one. For now, he walks off along with the rest.

They had to continue.
(Marcel Delisle)

Howling winds.

None would dare test such heroes which stood against the might of Witch and dared to live. Closer and closer such a group would approach - To where their supposed prize now lay dormant and in stasis.

"... Fools."

Would call a voice as their boots first settled upon these steps - Though Celicia would be one of the first to attempt to ascend these steps.

Perhaps for whatever reason, Marcel was walking backwards?

Who really knew.

Though as soon as her wings dared reach over those steps? Runes would be lit ablaze, scattered about this land and collecting to burn the very edges of those massive creations upon her back.

Blocked by some sort of foul safeguard to assure no one dare trample in their process.

Within the center of the steps?

What an Artificer could see as small slots to move these floating runes about within.

'igeefrgdfnnoinsuru'

'_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _'

Six letters, then three, then nine.

How fun, a puzzle.
[Narrate]


… Strange. Did he just walk backwards?

There's a realization to that, and he tries to come to realization of his scrambled senses- or perhaps, something was not letting him in. Though, when he looked up..

He can clearly see small slots to move the floating rules. Letters?

"A puzzle.."

"Hm. It looks like... it's supposed to resemble three words? Six letters, three, then nine."

There's a hum. Already he begins to think over- the presence of Celicia on his back was, for the time being, disregarded.

He was focused, brainstorming.
(Marcel Delisle)

(The group may also use two 'Brute force' attempts. Rolling above a 3 reveals a letter.)
[NARRATE]

Marcel tries to shift the runes a bit. For the first word, he randomly tries to align first six letters with runework - being an artificer himself.

'Frigid.'

Not necessarily brute-forcing.. as much as to see if any letters at all work.

"Let's see.."
(Marcel Delisle)

Marcel would begin to move the runes...

'F' is locked into place, and his hands are met with a horrible and piercing pain. Just as though he'd placed his hands onto white hot irons.

Continuing seemed...

Dangerous, to say the least.
[NARRATE]

Burn.

Marcel immediately pulls away, seeing that the letter has failed; though, there's a quiet hiss coming from him in pain to calm down his hand, he waves it off a bit with cooling air magic surrounding it.

"--Dammit."

He sighs. Though, with that said..

"... I do have an idea."

"We can begin trying out each letter for the first slot, until one matches. Just.. don't brute-force it or try to break the runes."

"Consider it like solving a crossword." There's a pause.

"I'll keep thinking about different words, but.. unless anyone has brighter ideas?"
(Marcel Delisle)

Marcel Delisle says, "..."

Marcel Delisle says, "Emery. Your gnome."

Marcel Delisle asks, "It's unkillable, right?"

Celicia says, "..."

Marcel Delisle says, "Use gnome's hands to shift the runes."

Emery Steiner says, "His head's got more strength."

Marcel Delisle says, "Doesn't matter."

Emery Steiner says, "I already threw him."

Marcel Delisle says, "We need someone to puppet it, basically. I could... probably steer him with winds, but-"

Marcel Delisle says, "If backlash happens, he can absorb it."

Celicia says, "This is fucked up."

Marcel Delisle asks, "Do you have better ideas?"

Emery Steiner says, "He's a smart gnome. He'll figure it out."

Celicia exclaims, "Huh? No. I love it!"

Emery Steiner drops Gnefildap The Pocket Gnome.

The Gome...

Does his best.
[NARRATE]

Thousands.

Upon thousands.

Of combinations are suddenly attempted by the gnome.

Moving the runes about and burning their hands until naught more than nubs remained.

Then?

Using its mouth until even the head of this gnome was burned off by the continued attempts to brute force these runic seals.

'igeefrgdfnnoinsuru'
[E-----][-u-][----e----]
[NARRATE]

Somehow.

Somehow.

Such a group has a member who wields a brain that exceeds a single digit IQ. Bruno quick as could be to unscramble the words as their gnome companion was reduced to naught more than ash and dust.

His sacrifice?

No doubt forgotten.

Runes one by one glowing as they are slotted into place, locked and sealed as Matryona would escape without so much as a single scar upon her hands.

Emery?

Unable to control his laughter throughout all of this.

Even still those floating runes would glow and glow until that light persisted no more, burning out into nothing and...

Clearing their path forwards.
[Narrate]

At the very least, it was over.

He had little concern for the health of gnome, because it's bound to somehow return to Emery anyway.. and if it doesn't? Then that means that he would be free from the suffering of having to hear that gnome's laughter.

The rifle is kept prepared- even now, he assumed that the dangers lie ahead, that they're going to stumble upon something very, very..

Dangerous.

"Let's keep moving."
(Marcel Delisle)

Step...

Step...

Down into the abyss had been where these soldiers sought to delve. Where spirits could grow more restless and free under the influence of abominations like none other. Faces contorting within their minds as a familiar miasma thicken with each stride into the underbelly of The Vale.

"Turn back..."

"You'll die..."

"You'll perish all alone!"

They cried and screeched as that final push was soon made. Clutched within the hands of a single spirit was a small seed, one which spewed out mana and bled with a sense of purity that none could contest. Those cold and lifeless gazes now focused upon such a group of soldiers alone.

No words.

One simply raising their hand as such a duo of Nethardin gave no room for reprieve. Blackened winds twisting and stardust collecting as a massive blast was shot straight towards those who dared interfere in the business of the spiritual.

The aura that swelled about each and immense influx of mana now clutched within their hands?

That alone was enough to send chills down the spine of even experienced, war-torn veterans such as these.
[Narrate]

Terrific.

A man almost entirely deaf to the concept of spirit and anything related to spiritual, someone who held large disdain for anything that's tied to it- for he never truly appreciated spirits, nor he ever would.

Spirits were responsible for his family's ruin.
Never would he accept them.

This... is one time that he would probably not listen to the orders of his superiors, should he be told to stand down; this is the only time when Marcel acts out - both out of deep-seated anger that he had for every spirit in existence, an ingrained belief that they should be eradicated or contained.. and excessive anxiety from facing something like this.

One that results in a violent backlash from him.

"Who- what-"

"What the hell are you?!"

It is here that he decides to draw on something stronger, something more potent.. a simple gun wouldn't do here. Instead, he draws on a sword he tends to reserve for more important, deadly fights - the fights that tend to end with someone's demise.

Vseron. The sword taken from Osrona's Saint.
The sword of Primordial God.

It shimmered with potency- after long deeming Marcel worthy for what he is, the blade sat well in his hand, refusing to budge or be lost. The terrible lightning gathers, and so does the wind.

"Perish, you vile alien!"

It didn't matter too much to him what exactly they do. It's not about defeating evil.. it's not about being a hero either.

It's about protecting the world against what he deems to be vermin in this world - the spirits that meddle with affairs of the world.

They have no place in the world of Man.

He'll make sure of that.
(Marcel Delisle)

[Final round -50 damage on ECs, +25k hp)
[NARRATE]


Ashes.

Ascended cosmic beings colliding against all which sought to oppose the depths of Helheim.

From one being their very body acted as a gate for each demonic entity being sliced down. Spirits rushing from a weapon clutched within their hands and lashing back against those which sought their own undoing.

Emery who was but seconds from being struck down by one of these spirits, clawed hands aiming to sever the mans head once and for all?

Would find himself saved.

Saved by a gnome jumping into that line of fire, being clawed in two and allowing this soldier a moment of reprieve as he ducked behind his fellow comrades.

Celicia would find herself victim to the supposed Dark King of this group for a moment - Struck by cosmic energies so vicious and potent it forced her circuitry to physically scream in agony. The constant pressure and strain put under them from that healing coupled with this blow, her body was in shambles. (Temp, 4 days.)

Matryona would find herself knocked down all the same.

Though she had no gnome to save her as Emery.

For a brief second she could feel her very vessel being pulled and dragged by this restless spirit from within. Melding and forcing its way into her existence as one entity which knew naught more than to bring about suffering. Beneath the bags under her eyes a third would sprout.

Upon the other side?

A forth sprouting outwards from her face, crimson was this gaze which now peered into this abyssal territory of the unknown.

Latching on and holding close to her very soul was a spirit twisted beyond all recognition.

With no intent of letting go. (Matryona has gained a new pair of eyes!)

Though such a prolonged battle seemed to be causing these otherworldly creatures to falter for a single moment.

Hesitating as both Marcel and Bruno were capable of unloading a barrage upon both of these spiritual foes.

Slaughtering the Dark King and forcing the other back through the gate within their own scepter.

Not before shredding half of this Nethardins very being prior, that was.

The Dark King?

Held The Seed which Gareth once sought.

Half of the other spirits body which had been torn away?

Holding a crystal within their hands.
[Narrate]

This fight was difficult, brutal.

The strength that these creatures held was unfathomable, so much so that Marcel's will and strength were tested to the limit- perhaps, if it wasn't for the blade that he holds, it wouldn't be possible, but..

There was a lot of viciousness to show.
A lot of savagery to unfold.

Each stroke of his blade, each masterfully executed gust of slashing winds that intended to damage these Nethradin- the lightning that surged through intended to eradicate them from this world once and for all. To say that he wasn't hurt would be a lie.. for they held the demonic strength that could not be easily rivalled by mortals like him. Yet..

They once faced otherworldly creatures, akin to themselves.
Now they face a Man.

Through sheer will and commitment does he persevere- the barrage of blows that wounds him, but fails to bring him down, only lights the fire within ablaze; eerily, the Corporal stays almost entirely silent throughout the fight, focused, resolute.

He will not make an error today.

For a moment that would prove fatal to the Dark King, he finds himself caught in the whirlwind of Delisle and is unable to escape- for a moment, these shredding winds prove to be too much. They catch him, drag him in, and here, Marcel finds the opportunity to strike.

Vseron is driven in its gut.
Cutting, twisting within.

Yet he's not done; he would slash away at the creature for as long as he must, until it dies - with the Dark King incapacitated, he comes in to finish off the weakened Nethradin. And he comes closer quite literally..

Delisle ascends upon his body.
Climbing the creature bigger than him.

If only to stand right upon his shoulders, boots firmly planted in; the sword is raised upward while it's staggered from the combined effort of the team, and..


The sword is driven right into the skull,
destroying the Nethradin in process.
The Dark King was no more.


At least, not in this realm. When it's over at last, Delisle huffs out in exhaustion- his gaze quickly turned to others. There's concern to his features, but..

"--Did we win?"
(Marcel Delisle)

Silence.

No more spirits to disturb.

No more beings to stand in their path.

Simplicity in its purest form - The goal which Osrona had long since abandoned? Left before their hands to grasp without question.

And so?

The group could return home.

Back to Achyon, as victors.

{Good Ending}
[Narrate]